


I Forget Where We Were

by randomdreamer01



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Friendship, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 00:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14556735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdreamer01/pseuds/randomdreamer01
Summary: I think I’ve missed you, his eyes say, reciting words first spoken a lifetime ago.Where have I been, what did I do, and who are you now? Will we remember each other the next time around?...Natasha, while on the run in Saint Petersburg with Steve and Sam, finds herself encountering a ghost from her past everywhere she goes.





	I Forget Where We Were

**Author's Note:**

> [I know I said I wasn’t going to write anymore fanfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367717/chapters/30646671), but Marvel got me, guys. _Infinity War_ and rewatching _Captain America_ films got me. Despite what went down in _Age of Ultron_ , I am still a Clint/Natasha shipper, but I do have a very, _very_ soft spot for Bucky/Natasha. Combined this with _Infinity War_ and my trip to Russia last month, this one-shot became inevitable. I wrote this in two-and-a-half hours. So please be kind!
> 
> **This story takes place after _Captain America: Civil War_ and right before _Avengers: Infinity War_.**
> 
> Reviews are (almost) better than the inspiration for the title of this piece - [Ben Howard’s “I Forget Where We Were”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpeK3zvmx2c)\- so please leave one if you can!

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

 

 

Natasha first sees him three hours after arriving in Saint Petersburg. When she emerges out of the metro station into the bright sunlight. 

He is across the road.

He is not standing or loitering on the street, of course. People in Russia do not linger or loiter. They walk, walk, walk. March, march, march. Everyone has places to go and things to do, so of course he’s not just _standing_ there on the pavement. He is standing in a window of a three-story building, on the second floor, his eyes searching for her like he used to do many, many, many years before while he’s waiting somewhere for her. Long-haired, dark gaze, his good arm resting on the window sill. A gun, maybe, somewhere on his person.

Stills. Everything stills.

And in an instant, she transforms into another woman entirely. Someone with red hair. With blood on her hands. Two knives in her boots instead of one. A tracking device lodged somewhere in her neck. Memories, memories, memories.

_You could at least -_

She blinks. And he is gone. 

A flock of pigeons nearby take flight. A tram creaks into view, sending pedestrians who are crossing the road into a jog. An old woman stumbles into her from behind, curses and knocks her basket against her arm. _Don’t just stand there, young lady, keep moving!_ Another woman, impeccably dressed in a long pink coat and severe black heels, shoulders her out of the way. The world spins for several seconds. Then -

No. Still gone. 

Of course he’s still gone. He’s in Wakanda, she reminds herself. Not Russia. He’s now Bucky Barnes, not James or the Winter Soldier. And she is not the Black Widow but Natasha Romanoff - fugitive, exiled Avenger, and, disappointingly, a blonde. 

She turns away from the building where she’s spotted him and resumes her walk. 

It is this city. This damned city. She didn’t want to come here at all; too many memories, too many past lives. But Steve has uncovered a lead about an ex-Hydra informant who’s lying low somewhere just outside of Saint Petersburg and wants to pursue it. Plus, they are running out of places to run to, and she has contacts here, and one thing led to another and…. well, she’s had worse days, she tries to convince herself. 

A young boy, looks to be no older than ten, rushes at her and nearly knocks her over. His mother grabs him by the arm and forces him to apologise. She gives them a smile, mutters _it’s completely alright, it’s nothing,_ and continues on walking. A middle-aged man smoking outside a supermarket looks her up and down with unabashed interest; she chooses to ignore him. A car horn honks from behind her. Another tram rumbles past. And -

She stops in her tracks.

There. There he is again. Walking ahead of her. Head-bowed under a black baseball cap. Hands in in the pockets of his jacket. Moving fast, his body turning nimbly left, right, left, right as he weaves through the throng of people. Sounds fade. The entire world shrinks down to just the space between them. And she becomes a predator again and he her target and -

_You could at least recog-_

She blinks. And he is gone. 

Memories, memories, memories.

Steve is sitting on the carpeted floor (their room is large enough for only one bed), writing in his notebook when she comes in. Beside him are maps, a flip phone, broken radio transmitters, a book. Sam looks over at her from the window. “Is it fixed?” he asks. 

She closes the door behind her and takes the transmitter out of her pocket. “Yup. Want to check?” 

“Toss it on the bed, I’ll check later,” says Sam. “This friend of yours is not going to be a problem, is he? He’s not going to tell people that we’re here?”

“ _She_ is not going to tell anyone. Don’t worry. She owes me a favour.” 

“You notice how nobody smiles in this goddamn city?” Sam turns back to the view, crossing his arms as he continues surveying the street below. “There are too many white people here. It makes me nervous.”

Natasha scoffs. But Steve’s blue eyes regard her curiously. 

“Nat?”

They know each other too well now. She knows his _“Nat?”_ actually means, _You alright?_

She tells him, “I’ve been here before.” Which actually means, _memories, memories, memories._

Steve nods; he understands memories well enough. “We’ll be on the move soon. I promise. Sam?”

Sam holds up a map of his own. “I’ve found the asshole’s location. We should be out of here in - say - twelve hours if he cooperates.”

“Good.” She nods at Steve’s flip phone and repeats the usual question. “I take it that thing hasn’t rung yet?”

Steve inclines his head: _No._

She lets out a sigh. “Okay, I’m taking the bed for a bit. Wake me in an hour.”

Steve nods: _Will do._

She begins taking off her jacket, turns to the bed and about to toss it on there along with the newly-fixed transmitter when - 

He is already sitting there.

Long-haired, dark eyes, unshaven. He has a look on his face - that sad, peaceful, yesterday look he used to have every time he woke up and found her in the room. This time he is looking at her. _Really_ looking at her. 

_I think I’ve missed you,_ his eyes say, reciting words first spoken a lifetime ago. _Where have I been, what did I do, and who are you now? Will we remember each other the next time around?_

Suddenly, the years roll back and she is Russian again and red-haired again, and moving towards him as if acting out a scene that she’s seen happened before. She cups his cheeks, strangely tender, then put her lips to his neck. He comes alive. Lifts a hand to cradle the back of her head, pulls her down to the mattress with him, kisses her, tells her - 

She blinks. And he is gone. 

“Nat?” It is Steve. She whips around and his eyes ask, _What’s wrong?_

Sam tears his gaze away from the window, frowning: _What’s going on?_

She ignores Sam. Keeps her eyes on Steve and shakes her head: _It’s nothing. Just memories, memories, memories. It’s nothing._

Both men look at her with concern for only a moment before turning away, leaving her be. She is grateful for it. There are things - painful things - that the three of them have wordlessly decided long ago never to drag out into the open: Peggy for Steve, Riley for Sam, what happened to her in the Red Room, and…him - him all those years ago when she knew him. 

But as she’s about to crash on the bed, the thought that she usually chases away before it becomes solid rears its head again. This time, however, for whatever reason - perhaps this memory-infested city, the exhaustion, the hallucinations - she finds herself holding onto it longer than she’s ever done before. For a while - only a while - she lets it linger. Lets it linger in their rented Soviet-style flat. On the old streets they once walked down together. On the empty bed where he was just a few moments ago.

_You could at least recognise me,_ the thought goes. _You could at least do that._

_Recognise me._

_._

_._

_._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you make of this. And special kudos go to those who picked up the _Get Out_ reference! 
> 
> [You can also read my thoughts on _Infinity War_ on my blog here.](https://keeponthegrass.net/2018/04/27/spoilery-thoughts-on-avengers-infinity-war/) [And follow me on Tumblr here.](http://justkeeponthegrass.tumblr.com/)


End file.
